


sons are like birds (flying upwards over the mountain)

by stupidgaytree



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Short, flowey is asriel to some extent but that doesn't make him frisk's friend, implied narrachara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidgaytree/pseuds/stupidgaytree
Summary: “Get away,” Flowey says, but doesn’t move. “There’s no one here, Frisk. Gohome.”Frisk stops, just close enough for comfort. They reach to their face and brush some hair away from their eyes -- dark as ever, even under the sunlight. They have a bag slung over their shoulder.“That’s not true,” they say finally. “There’s you. And now there’s me.”
Relationships: Flowey & Frisk (Undertale)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	sons are like birds (flying upwards over the mountain)

Flowey has always been good with time, but he doesn’t know how much has passed when he hears footsteps coming towards him. Light, their noise echoing off the stone just enough. Feet dragging, just a little.

He doesn’t really want to turn around. He does, though.

“Frisk,” he hisses, “What are you doing here? Go away!”

The kid looks at him for a long moment. They look a little tired, and a little afraid, but keep coming. When the light from the hole in the mountain falls over their face, he can see that all the scrapes and bruises he saw them with last are gone. Long healed.

“Get away,” Flowey says, but doesn’t move. “There’s no one here, Frisk. Go _home.”_

Frisk stops, just close enough for comfort. They reach to their face and brush some hair away from their eyes -- dark as ever, even under the sunlight. They have a bag slung over their shoulder.

“That’s not true,” they say finally. “There’s you. And now there’s me.”

Something hangs off the end of that, something Frisk doesn’t say and Flowey can’t put words to. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Frisk doesn’t reply, not verbally. Instead they kneel, taking the bag off their back. Whatever is in it clanks gently as they set it on the ground. Flowey watches as they unzip it and reach inside, pulling out… a round glass container. Full of pie.

Flowey stares at the pie instead of Frisk, now, as they take out plates and silverware. “Who is that for?” he asks.

“For us,” Frisk says. “We’re going to eat dessert together, like we’re supposed to.”

“What?”

Frisk raises their eyes to him at last. Very softly they say. “You are not my family. You’re not even my friend.” They pause, brief frustration flickering across their face. And sadness, he thinks. “But you’re here, and I have pie. So we’re going to eat it.”

Something is rising up in… well, Flowey doesn’t know where. He’s a flower and it’s too dull to pinpoint anyways. He does the only thing he knows how in response, and snaps, “You _brought_ it here, you little dullard.”

“Yes,” Frisk says. “I knew you would be here. So let’s eat.”

Flowey gives up, just watching again as Frisk cuts three slices of pie and puts them each on a plate. Neither of them say anything as Frisk sets one of the plates aside, right in the hilled center of the golden flower patch. Then Frisk pushes one over to Flowey, fork included. They pick up their own fork.

“I can’t eat this, Frisk.”

They set their fork down. “Why not?”

He rustles his leaves pointedly. Frisk’s eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Can’t you do the… vine thing?” they say, and raise one hand, wiggling it as if in demonstration. “Make hands?”

“I still don’t have a _throat._ Or a _stomach.”_

“What about how plants get stuff from dirt?” They set their plate down wholesale and start rummaging in their bag again. “If I bury the pie, can you eat it?”

“I -- well, I guess, but -- why do you _have that?”_ His voice raises to a screech as Frisk pulls a trowel out of the bag.

They don’t answer this either, instead scooting closer to Flowey. They push some flower stems aside and raise their trowel, then jolt as if caught doing something naughty. Guiltily, they glance away, and Flowey follows their gaze to where the third slice of pie sits innocuously.

“...It’s fine, Frisk,” Flowey says. “No one cares. Bury the stupid pie already.”

Frisk turns their head back down to the ground. Their bangs fall back over their eyes, hiding their expression from Flowey’s view. Carefully, they begin to pull up the earth, a bit at a time, as if asking permission anyways.

In the end, the hole is only just deep enough to set the slice into, and Frisk just piles the earth back on top of it. Their shoulders loosen, but they remain silent as they move over to the untouched slice, and begin digging a hole for it too.

When their work is finished, they finally sit back down with their own slice, inspecting it carefully for damage or dirt. Finding it intact, they happily begin to eat. Flowey only stares.

“You’re too nice for your own good, Frisk,” he says finally. It all comes out at once. Letting it out like it's an accident seems to be the only way he can ever say things like that.

Frisk doesn’t look up, but at least they finish chewing. “Good thing it’s not for me this time.” They reach up to scratch their chin -- Flowey can see a scab there, though it doesn’t resemble any wound he remembers them having. They’ve been busy, then. “Do you like the pie?”

He grumbles for a minute before responding, “Haven’t finished it yet.”

“Weird.” They take another bite. “I like it. Mom hasn’t changed the recipe in like, a million bazillion years, you know.”

He does know. But he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s nice out there,” they say, “Not that you’d like it. But you could.”

He could. But he won’t say it.

When Frisk finally packs up the plates and silver and remaining pie -- washing the crumbs off and away with a packed water bottle that they also take a swig from -- they stand up. Slinging the bag back over their shoulder, easy as anything, they squint down at Flowey. It’s no less bright from above than it was when they came, though Flowey’s sure it’ll be dark by the time they’re well and truly gone.

“Thank you,” they say finally.

“What? For what?”

“Letting me eat with you,” they say patiently. “You’re not my friend, but you let me stay. It’s a nice thing to do.”

“Like I could make you leave,” Flowey scoffs.

They just look at him again. Flowey remembers their journey -- they’d been mostly silent during it, offering brief responses here and there, mainly when Alphys talked to them over the phone. Flowey doesn’t know why they’d talk to him like this now. They don’t even like him -- he can tell. But they sat and talked anyways.

“See you, Flowey,” Frisk says.

“Whatever, idiot.”

They nod, and just like that, they turn away and begin walking back. It will take them hours to reach the surface again safely. Surely, they told their big loving family they were leaving, and they’ll be received back with hugs and kisses. Flowey watches quietly as they disappear into the gloom of the cavern.

He knows they’ll be back. But he’s not going to say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> as long as im here, idly uploading undertale fanfiction: please, put some time and effort into helping with the black lives matter protests happening right now. especially if you donated to this website, a general cesspool of racism and other evil garbage, you can stand to donate to a few blm causes and do some learning. i won't link it directly out of wariness of it being reported as self promotion somehow, but blacklivesmatters.carrd.co is a great starting resource. if your human decency won't motivate you, then i guess it might interest you to know toby fox and temmie chang are supporting the cause. do something.
> 
> title is from "upwards over the mountain" by iron & wine. you can find me @lavenderdryad on tumblr. thank you for reading! <3


End file.
